Hermione's Christmas carol
by LynstHolin
Summary: Dramione   On Christmas Eve, Dumbledore comes to Hermione in a dream with a message about her possible future.


It was the first Christmas Eve after the war. Hermione was overjoyed to be spending it with her parents, who, memories restored, were back from Australia. Around ten, the two glasses of wine she'd drunk had her yawning. "You'd best get to bed," her mother said, "Since you'll be going to the Weasleys so early tomorrow."

The Weasleys liked to begin their Christmas Day at the unholy hour of six in the morning. But Hermione wasn't going to complain. It was her first Christmas as Ron's girlfriend. She wondered what he would give her for a gift, and fervently hoped it would be better than the giant bottle of dirt-cheap cologne he'd given her for her birthday that smelled like cake frosting; she had to wear it every time she saw Ron to make him happy, even though it gave her an awful headache.

Hermione changed into her flannel Pjs and crawled under the covers, falling asleep immediately. She fell into a standard random dream: a talking dog that was really her kindergarten teacher, trying to dial a phone but always getting the number wrong, that sort of thing. But then it changed. Hermione suddenly felt very _aware_, like she was awake inside of her dream. _Why am I in front of Malfoy Manor_? she wondered. _Am I going to have another nightmare_?

"This isn't a nightmare, Hermione. As you may have guessed, this isn't an ordinary sort of dream at all."

Hermione gasped when she saw who was standing beside her. "Dumbledore?" His smile made her ridiculously happy.

"Right now, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. Come." He took her hand and led her through the front door of the Manor into a room that featured in Hermione's worst dreams. But it was different, warmer, almost welcoming. It was decorated with evergreen branches, holly, and red velvet ribbons, and a fire crackled away iin the fireplace. There was a huge Christmas tree adorned with silver tinsel and tiny candles, surounded by gifts wrapped in colorful paper.

"Why are we here?" Hermione asked.

"All in good time."

A tiny blond boy in dress robes was crouched next to the gifts, his huge gray eyes alight with excitement. "Are you going to watch me open my presents, Father?"

"I'm right here, am I not?" Hermione recognized the voice as Lucius Malfoy's. His face was hidden behind a copy of the Daily Prophet.

The little boy, who was obviously Draco, picked up a package and eagarly tore the paper off. "Look, Father, I got a camera!"

"Mm hmm." The paper didn't move.

"Open this one next," a younger version of Narcissa said. She placed a very long package in front of Draco.

Draco went at his gift so ferociously, a blizzard of little bits of paper flew into the air. "A Mini-Nimbus! Just what I wanted!" He gazed at the small broomstick blissfully.

"Why don't you give it a try?" his mother suggested. She held her hand out and raised the broom to the proper height for a four-year-old. Draco climbed on, gripping hard. "Don't be frightened, sweetie. Just tilt it up a little."

The broom rose a few inches, stopped, then went up a few inches more. Draco moved forward, slowly at first. "Look, Father!" he cried as he rode his new broom all around the Christmas tree.

"Mm hmm."

Draco lowered his broom, looking dangerously close to tears. His little pointed chin quivered a bit. Narcissa gave her husband a dark look, then shoved another package into her son's hands. "This one is from the Goyles. What do you suppose it is?"

Lucius swore loudly; startled, Draco dropped the gift and it shattered, spewing bits of multi-colored candy eveywhere. Draco wailed. Lucius lowered his paper, glaring. "Draco, are you actually crying over _candy_?" he snapped.

"What on earth were you cursing about?" Narcissa asked.

"Mudbloods in the Ministry. _Mudbloods _in the _Ministry_. _Mudbloods_."

"Lucius, please, couldn't you watch your language more? Little pitchers have big ears."

Draco wiped his eyes and hiccuped a little. "Mudbloods," he said.

"Draco, that's not a nice word!" Narcissa remonstrated.

Lucius laughed, dropping his paper on the floor as he stood up. "That's my boy!" He knelt down and smiled at Draco. "Say it again, and I'll get you more candy."

"Mudbloods."

"Very good!" Lucius ruffled Draco's hair, and Draco looked so very, very happy.

The room swirled around Hermione, and then she and Dumbledore were outside a pub in Diagon Alley. The sign hanging over the door said, 'The Silver Serpent'. "What you just showed me was very... poignant, but I don't see what that has to do with me," she said.

"Patience, my dear. Right now, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present." Dumbledore steered her inside of the pub. Draco Malfoy sat at a table with Blaise Zabini, Greg Goyle, and Theo Nott. He looked like he'd had one too many shots of firewhiskey. He leaned on the table on his elbows, pale hairing flopping down across his forehead. He hadn't shaved that day, and his stubble was visible in the candle light.

"There'll be another Dark Lord," Zabini was saying, "and maybe he'll be even better than Voldemort. Stronger."

"I should bloody well hope not," Draco declared.

The other young men at the table looked at Malfoy with surprise. "You don't want someone to take care of the Mudbloods and the Muggles for once and for all?" Goyle asked.

"It's stupid, all of it. Means nothing. You know who the best witch our age is? Hermione Granger. Goyle, you're Pureblood, but you're practically a squib, and you're so ugly and stupid, no one will breed with you. Blood is meaningless." The bartender laid down another round, and Draco tossed back a shot. "The Dark Lord had a Muggle father, anyway. He was all about self-hate. Self-hate... self-hate..." Draco's gaze went inward, as if he'd forgotten that he was talking to anyone but himself. "Self-hate is a waste of time. Hating others for what they were born as is a waste of time and a stupid thing to die for."

Nott scowled. "You've changed, Draco."

Draco slammed the shot glass he was holding down on the table. "Of course I've changed! Do you yammering apes have any idea what I've been through? Any at all? None of you have changed one bit. Not even you, Greg, even though one would think you might reconsider things after you lost your best mate to utter idiocy. My own included." He got up from the table, only a little unsteady, and grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair. "Coming here was a mistake. I'd rather be alone than with the lot of you." Draco pushed his way through the door and out into the street, where a gale was picking up speed, blowing snow sideways.

Hermione went to go after him, but Dumbledore stopped her. "He'll be fine," the elderly wizard said as the pub dissolved into smoke. They stood in front of a charming cottage. Golden light shone through its windows and smoked puffed from its chimney. Dumbledore didn't need to say a word. Hermione knew this was a vision of her future. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. _Do I realy want to see_? she asked herself.

Dumbledore propelled her forward, through the red-painted front door. Hermione and Ron sat together on a plaid couch in front of a fire. Hermione was reading 'Transfiguration' today, while Ron was frowning at a Quidditch score card. A match was playing on the wireless. "Ron, the Wierd Sisters are playing a special Christmas concert on the rock station in five minutes."

"Quidditch is still on."

"Quidditch is _always_ on."

"But the Cannons are playing."

"They're going to lose, as usual."

Ron turned and glared at Hermione. "Oh, you're a seer, now?"

Hermione sighed. "The Cannons haven't won since before Dumbledore was born."

"Which is why I don't want to miss it when it happens again."

"But the Sisters will probably play our song." Hermione scootched over and snuggled up against Ron. "We could slow dance to it."

Ron was squinting at the score card again. "We'll turn it after the match is over."

Present-Hermione turned to Dumbledore, a pleading expression in her eyes. "This is just a bad night, right?"

"I'm afraid not, Hermione. I know as well as anyone that one's first love is usually not the person one should spend one's life with." Before Hermione could ask any questions, the cozy room flew apart and away. "I have one more thing to show you: the Christmas that Could Be."

A room assembled itself around them. It was a stylish, modern flat located, judging by the skyline visible through a large picture window, in London. The decor and furnishings were high-end yet inviting, with a huge, soft black suede couch curving in the center of the airy, open space. A radio played a Wierd Sisters ballad, and a couple swayed along to it. Hermione gasped when she recognized herself-and Draco Malfoy. He had gotten even taller, though he was as slim as he'd ever been. The jeans and and blue jersey pullover he was wearing looked good on him. "This is the song we danced to on our first date," he said, smiling down at her.

"Of course. How could I forget?" Their lips met. The kiss started out soft, light and playful, then deepened. Soon they weren't dancing any more. Hermione reached an arm out to the side, groping at a switch on the wall. She flipped it, and, with a whirring sound, a curtain slid over the picture window.

"Do you want to see if we can make a baby before next Christmas?" Draco asked just before he nipped at Hermione's neck.

The room faded to black. Hermione was stunned into silence. "I must go now," Dumbledore said.

"Wait!" Hermione grabbed at the sleeve of the wizard's robes, but caught nothing but a handful of mist. He was gone.

Her alarm went off, and she bolted out of bed to get ready for the day. At a quarter to six, she Apparated to the Burrow. The wireless was already on, playing a Quidditch match from China. "Unbelievable! It's going on seventy-two hours now!" Ron told Hermione from where he was lounging on the couch.

"Who's playing?" Hermione asked politely. She didn't really care.

"Shanghai versus Hong Kong. Hong Kong's winning."

"I'm going to help your mum bake cookies. It would be nice to have some holiday music while we're doing it."

Fleur poked her head out from the kitchen. "_Oui_, it most certainly would!"

"No way. This is history, Hermione!"

Hermione shuffled into the kitchen. "What's wrong, dear?" Molly asked. Hermione just shook her head. The vision Dumbledore sent her was true. She knew it down to the soles of her feet. Ron was not the one for her. _But Malfoy is? Could that really be_?

In a week, she and Malfoy would both be back at Hogwarts. He was in most of her N.E.W.T. prep classes. Come to think of it, he'd been extraordinarily well-mannered toward her this year, considering their past. Sometimes, she caught him looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Once, when she'd tripped on some first year's lost marble just before Halloween, he'd picked up all her books and papers and handed them back to her after helping her up. And he'd asked if she was all right. Draco Malfoy had actually seemed _concerned_ abut her.

Remembering the kiss in her dream-that-wasn't-just-a-dream, Hermione blushed a little. "You look like you're getting a bit over-heated, dear," Molly said. "Perhaps a walk outside would be in order."

Bundled in knitted goods, Hermione went out into the morning dark and looked up at the stars. The rising of the sun made them fade away, and Hermione made up her mind. This would be her first, last, and only Christmas as Ron's girlfriend.


End file.
